


It's a Kind of Magic

by halcyon1993



Series: The Kinky Adventures of a Wolf and His Boy [78]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Anal Sex, Bondage, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Come Eating, Come Marking, Coming In Pants, Dom Stiles Stilinski, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Hairy Derek Hale, Humiliation, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Coital Cuddling, Riding, Sex Games, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Sub Derek Hale, Top Derek Hale, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:33:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26378107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyon1993/pseuds/halcyon1993
Summary: Stiles uses his spark to do naughty things to Derek.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: The Kinky Adventures of a Wolf and His Boy [78]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/887604
Comments: 22
Kudos: 369
Collections: Teen Wolf ▶ Derek Hale / Stiles Stilinski





	It's a Kind of Magic

Stiles has been training his spark with Deaton for over a year when the idea occurs to him. It's so good, so devious, that he can't believe he never thought of it before. He and Derek have been an item for almost as long, once the tension between them finally reached boiling point and they all but ripped each other's clothes off following their victory over yet another enemy threatening to kill them all. The Hale Pack is stable, Beacon Hills is peaceful, Stiles is nineteen and in college, and his dad knows and approves of him and Derek—so overall, Stiles would say he's a very happy camper.

And, armed with his new idea, he knows he's about to become even happier.

How to implement it, though, is the question…

Should he actually come right out and bring the subject up with Derek? That would probably be the best option—open communication and consent, all that jazz—but, then again, where's the fun in that?

No, Stiles doesn't think he'll do it that way. He's a mischievous little shit, as Derek is already well aware. He'd be lying if he said he doesn't want to see the look on his Sourwolf's stupidly pretty face when he catches on to what Stiles is doing—what questionable things he's using his spark for. Besides, Stiles will stop immediately if Derek tells him to, and Derek has never been shy about saying when he doesn't want to do something.

Decision made, Stiles spends another full week coming up with a plan. Probably overkill, but he needs to get it right. He and Derek have been quite adventurous when it comes to their sex life so far, alternating positions, indulging and exploring each other's kinks… Stiles was pretty damn surprised when he discovered that Derek can get kind of submissive in the sack if the right mood strikes him. He even gets off on light humiliation if Stiles is sweet about it instead of degrading. Stiles' plans should play perfectly into that.

It seems almost kismet.

When he has it all figured out, all that's left is to wait for the right moment. It can't be when there are other members of the pack around; they'd be able to smell it, and even though a bit of exhibitionism and humiliation is part of it, Stiles wouldn't ever subject Derek to something to that extent. So it has to be only when there are humans around, people who would only notice something was amiss if he or Derek acted too weird—all but guaranteed at the beginning, before Derek realises what Stiles is doing, but something that can be easily explained away so others are none the wiser.

The perfect opportunity presents itself just two days after Stiles has finalised his plans. Every couple weeks or so, if they can swing it, he, Derek and the Sheriff have dinner together so they can stay caught up with each other's lives. Sometimes, if she's not tied up at the hospital, Melissa McCall joins them too. That evening is one of those rare times, and after all four of them have taken their places around the dining table in his dad's house, their food still steaming-hot on their plates, Stiles begins.

He reaches inside of himself, for that special place just behind his sternum where his spark resides warm and comforting when he's not using it. He coaxes it out, all while taking bites of his pork chop slathered liberally with apple sauce.

When his spark is primed and ready, Stiles looks across the table at Derek, who speaks calmly to Melissa, and directs his magic at him. He starts slow—a little tickle at one of Derek's ankles that he can easily brush off as innocent…a whisper of breath over the back of his neck that could just be a breeze from the open dining room window.

Then he kicks things up a notch.

He keeps his feet on the floor but gives Derek the sensation of one of his legs sliding up the inside of Derek's calf—up, and up further still, to the inside of his thigh. Derek visibly startles and snaps his mouth shut in the middle of a sentence, drawing Melissa's concern.

"Are you okay?" the nurse enquires with a frown. Her curls are pulled back into an untidy ponytail at the base of her neck.

"Y-yeah," Derek replies, shaking himself. He shoots a quick glare Stiles' way to silently tell him to knock it off.

 _Sorry, Sourwolf…you're out of luck,_ Stiles thinks gleefully.

He allows a few more minutes to pass without incident and then finishes the last of his sparkling water. "I'll be right back," he says, rising to his feet.

In the kitchen now, Stiles takes his sweet time refilling his glass. If Derek thought he was safe because Stiles is no longer in the dining room, well…he's got another thing coming.

He repeats what he did earlier but this time doesn't stop at Derek's thigh. He makes the werewolf feel as if Stiles' foot is pressed lightly over his crotch and keeps it that way as he saunters back into the dining room, casually sipping from his replenished drink. The sight that greets him is perfect: Derek, sitting there with his fork clutched tightly in one hand, his cheeks ruddy, the tips of his ears pink.

"So what were we talking about?" Stiles asks as he retakes his seat.

"Just the advice I gave Boyd on becoming a nurse," Melissa answers.

Stiles' mouth drops open in surprise. "Boyd wants to be a nurse?"

Melissa hums her assent.

"Seems he's finally decided what he wants to do with his life," Derek adds, still sitting there stiffly because Stiles hasn't let up.

Stiles purses his lips. "And it's nursing?"

This is news to him. He doesn't really speak to Boyd that often because, aside from being in the same pack, Boyd only really interacts with Erica and Derek. Still, Stiles can see it. Boyd's defining characteristic is his placidity, so if anyone would be a good fit for a job in nursing, it would be him.

Dinner proceeds as normal after that little revelation, but Stiles still doesn't give Derek a break. The Alpha doesn't so much as look in his direction again, so he can't want him to stop that badly, even as Stiles brushes his magic back and forth over the bulge hidden from innocent eyes by the table, encouraging it to fill with blood.

By the time the Sheriff brings out dessert—lemon cheesecake—Stiles has expanded the influence of his magic to other parts of Derek's body:

More breath on his neck, this time with small nips and bites.

A hot mouth around both of his nipples.

Even a finger rubbing over the tight little hole Stiles loves worshipping so.

Derek practically vibrates with unreleased tension, and when Stiles finally reaches the end of Phase One in his plan, Derek clenches his jaw and his knuckles turn white around his spoon, mangling the thin metal.

Now, Derek meets Stiles gaze again, neither of them paying any attention to his dad and Melissa as they talk away.

Stiles barely holds back a giggle at the desperation he sees in his 'wolf's mien.

"Come," he mouths, working his magic through Derek's body to light him up from the inside. He pays particular attention to Derek's prostate.

And that's it.

Derek leaps out of his chair and bolts from the room so quickly that he's a blur. Stiles hears his footsteps on the stairs and the bathroom door slamming shut.

"What was that about?" the Sheriff wonders, shock evident on his face.

"I dunno," Stiles lies as he allows his spark to leave Derek. "Must be some weird wolfy thing. I'll check on him in a minute."

He feels Melissa's stare on the side of his face and returns it. She squints at him, half judgmental and half amused. She knows.

Oh well.

Stiles doesn't care because she doesn't say anything, and his dad seems genuinely bemused. He waits until he's devoured the last of his cheesecake before excusing himself, leaving his dad and Melissa to put the dishes in the dishwasher. He has something much more important to do right now.

He reaches the top of the stairs and strolls down the hallway to the bathroom. He finds the door locked.

"Sourwolf?" he calls through it.

No response, but he hears heavy breathing.

Not announcing his intention to come in, he uses his spark to unlock the door—it's so useful—and enters quietly. He shuts the door behind himself and leans back against it, unable to suppress his grin.

"You okay over there?" he asks, cocking his head to the side.

Derek scoffs and stays where he is, hunched over the sink, head bowed, hands gripping the porcelain rim.

Stiles chuckles. "I'll take that as a yes."

"You— I could kill you right now," Derek grits out.

"But then we wouldn't be able to have more fun like this," Stiles points out, walking closer. He presses his front to Derek's back and puts his hands on Derek's hips, kissing over the back of his neck. "You can lie to yourself and say you didn't love what I just did to you, but you can't like to me."

Derek growls, low and dangerous. "Stiles…"

Said human pays the warning no mind and reaches around to cup his palm over Derek's crotch. He's still half-hard, and the fabric is slightly damp with come. Good thing he wore his black jeans tonight; the stain won't show. "This is proof."

Derek growls again, but this time the sound tapers off into a groan. He fidgets uncomfortably. "I feel gross."

"Then I guess we'd better get you home so I can peel you outta those jeans, hadn't we?" Stiles suggests. He gives Derek's dick a light squeeze and rocks his own burgeoning erection against Derek's plump ass.

A minute later, once Derek has recovered from what Stiles did to him, his face no longer flushed, he turns around in Stiles' arms. "Can you use your…thing, and clean me up, please?" he requests, glancing down at himself with his nose wrinkled up adorably.

Stiles shakes his head.

Derek glares. "No?"

"Nope," Stiles confirms, popping the P just to be extra obnoxious.

"Why not?"

"Because I kinda like the thought of you sitting in your own mess all the way back to the loft, Sourwolf."

Derek pouts—he would deny it if called out—but doesn't offer an argument. It's more proof that he's on board with whatever Stiles wants to do to him.

And does Stiles ever still have many other things to do…

With a sigh, Derek leads the way back downstairs, where they find the Sheriff and Melissa lounging on the living room sofa.

"I think we're gonna take off now," Stiles announces, slinging an arm around Derek's shoulders.

"Already?" his dad questions, eyebrows climbing his forehead. He leans forward and sets his beer on a coaster on the coffee table. Condensation slides down the brown glass. "I thought we were going to relax a bit first."

"Nah." Stiles gives Derek a small shake and smiles indulgently. "Someone here's getting tired."

"But—"

"John," Melissa interjects, putting a hand on his thigh—and hey, that's new. Huh. "Let them go home. You'll see them again soon enough, remember."

"Mmm…I suppose," the Sheriff says regretfully.

In the foyer now, Stiles gives his dad a long, tight hug and doesn't miss Melissa shooting him a wink over his dad's shoulder. Then they're on their way, Stiles getting into the passenger seat of his boyfriend's Camaro and Derek sliding in behind the wheel, his movements slightly stiff. He doesn't make a sound as he drives, much to Stiles' enjoyment.

Time seems to slow down on their journey as Stiles' wallows in his excitement to carry out Phase Two of his plan.

Finally, what seems like hours later, they arrive at their destination and Stiles accompanies Derek inside the old building. Quiet still reigns—until they get inside the loft proper.

"Now, then…where to start," Stiles says, shutting the sliding metal door with a rough slam.

"Stiles—"

"Shh…" Stiles puts his index finger to Derek's lips and squares his shoulders, allowing an air of dominance to overcome him. "I only want you to speak if it's to tell me to stop or I ask you a direct question. Understood?"

Derek's eyes go wide and vulnerable. He nods.

"Tell me your safeword."

"W-wolfsbane," Derek stammers, his breath puffing out hot over Stiles' finger.

"Good."

Bringing his spark out again, Stiles uses it to shove Derek backward. His back hits the metal door with a muted thump, his arms held above his head by invisible restraints.

"Stiles…"

" _Ah-ah_!" Stiles says sharply, gripping Derek's bristly chin. "What did I say?"

The Alpha repeats his earlier instructions and lowers his gaze in deference. "Sorry," he tacks on.

"Better. I'll let it slide this time, but don't let it happen again—or else I'll have to spank that tight little ass of yours," Stiles cautions with a smirk. He almost wishes for Derek to speak again just to give him the excuse—the thought of Derek's ass marked red with his handprint…damn, that's good.

Maybe later.

With Derek trapped against the door, Stiles releases his chin, slithers down to his knees and undoes the fastenings of Derek's jeans. He could do this with his spark, but for this, stripping this beautiful man bare…he prefers the hands-on approach.

"Such a naughty boy," he murmurs as he pulls down the zipper. "Making a mess of yourself like this."

Peering up the length of Derek's body, Stiles can see the werewolf wrestling with himself, probably debating the merits of opening his mouth to point out that it's all Stiles' fault, not his. But he doesn't, remaining quiet, his lips a thin, tight line.

Now that Derek's jeans are undone, Stiles wrestles them down his muscular, hairy legs and throws them—and his shoes and socks—blindly over his shoulder. Then he presses the tip of his nose to the impressive bulge in the front of Derek's red boxer-briefs. He breathes in deeply, enjoying the musk that's always strong at this part of Derek's body, even fresh out of the shower. It's different now, though, enhanced by the load that's soaking through the thin fabric. God, Stiles loves come. The smell, the taste…

The taste. Yes. He thinks he'll do that now. Indulge himself a little. But first…he wouldn't want Derek to feel left out.

He whips off Derek's underwear, turns them inside-out and, with a thought, sends them floating up to Derek's face so he can see the evidence of what Stiles did to him back at the Sheriff's house.

"See what you did?"

Derek whimpers.

"Clean it up."

He brings the soiled garment closer to Derek's lips with his magic, and after taking a moment to work himself up to it, Derek opens his mouth. He licks over the fabric tentatively at first but ends up giving into it, his hands turning into fists above his head and his cock reaching full mast as he tastes himself.

While his Sourwolf is preoccupied, Stiles lowers his gaze to the prize he was after.

" _Fuck_ …" he breathes reverently.

Derek is a sight to behold like this. His dick sticks out straight and needy, silky skin over eight inches of steel, his foreskin still partially covering the head. His hairy balls are low between his thighs, still full even though he came just half an hour ago. The best part, though? That honour goes to the milky fluid that's slathered over all of it. There's so much of it, even after some of it soaked into Derek's boxers.

As Stiles stares, a droplet forms near the end of Derek's cock, on the underside. It gets bigger and then hangs there in a sticky string.

Before it can fall, Stiles catches it on his tongue and moans.

Delectable.

He puts himself to work, needing more. He runs his tongue over every bit of skin that glistens with seed, wiggles the tip beneath Derek's foreskin to get any that might be stuck there. He even pays attention to Derek's pubes, which are decorated with yet more of the stuff, the milky-white a lovely contrast to black. He draws some of the curls in between his lips and sucks the salty fluid from them just to make sure he doesn't waste a drop.

His mission now complete, Stiles swallows Derek's cock to the root and bobs his head up and down a few times. He doesn't stay there long, makes the blowjob more of a tease than anything, before rising back to his full height. He removes Derek's boxer-briefs from his mouth with his hand and releases Derek from his spark. The werewolf lowers his arms, but Stiles makes him put them right back up so he can take off his henley, baring him entirely.

"Over to the bed," Stiles commands. He turns and leads the way, trusting Derek to follow, and rummages around in the nightstand for their lube with one hand. He points to the bed with the other. "Lie on your back."

He hears Derek settle obediently into place but doesn't look until he has the lube in hand.

"Well, don't you make a pretty picture?" he compliments as he crawls onto the mattress next to his lover's hip.

It's true.

Derek is nothing but miles of tanned skin, toned muscle and dark body hair right there for the taking.

And take is just what Stiles is going to do.

Situating himself so he's straddling Derek's thighs, still fully clothed, he drops the lube on the bedding, takes Derek's hands in his and brings them back over his head. He wraps Derek's thick fingers around the slats in the headboard.

"Can you keep them there, or do I need to use my spark on you again?" he enquires, his face hovering above the older man's.

"I— I can do it," Derek responds.

"Good." Stiles lets go and sits back again.

"But…"

Quirking an eyebrow, Stiles waits. He gets silence. "But what?" he prompts. "Speak."

"Can you…" Derek licks his lips and his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, working up the nerve to say what he wants. "Can you do it anyway? Please? It was kinda hot."

Stiles hums, pleased. He's proud of his little Sourwolf for voicing his needs. "I suppose I can do that. Like this?"

For a second time, he uses his spark to pin Derek in place. There's nothing there, but to Derek, it will feel like he has unbreakable ropes around his wrists, keeping them pressed down into the pillow on either side of his head.

Stiles thinks he looks like a treat. "Okay?"

Derek nods slowly, his eyes half-lidded and his cock leaking fresh pre-come. It forms a translucent string between his abs and his slit. "Yeah…I like it."

"I can see that. Good thing for you that I like it too."

Stiles spends the next few minutes just sitting there, unmoving, appraising the gorgeous body before him. Derek squirms under his scrutiny, but his erection never wanes. It twitches every few seconds, and more pre-come dribbles from the slit, creating a small pool in the trail of hair beneath his navel.

When he's finally looked his fill—at least for the evening—Stiles traces a finger down the dip between Derek's pecs and then around to circle a nipple, causing it to harden. He does some compartmentalising with his powers in preparation for the next part, basically locking off some of his spark so that Derek won't be freed even if Stiles' concentration breaks. He circles Derek's nipple three more times, the circle getting smaller each time, and right when he makes contact with the pebbled nub, he makes his spark literal.

Derek shouts and his back bows as a tiny bolt of electricity shoots from the pad of Stiles' finger. He breathes heavily, and when his back returns to the sheets, he stares at Stiles with wide eyes.

Stiles stares back. "Something wrong?"

The Alpha inhales shakily and clenches and unclenches his hands. He shakes his head.

"Good."

Stiles strokes over Derek's body and creates more electricity at random intervals so Derek never knows when it's coming next. He runs his fingers through Derek's chest hair, down the thick muscles of his arms, presses down lightly on his neck, and drinks in each cry, moan and whimper he elicits. The sounds get louder, with the loudest echoing around the loft when he zaps the leaking tip of Derek's neglected cock.

"Poor thing," Stiles coos, giving the rigid length a stroke.

Eventually, his own desire makes itself known, his erection pressing insistently against the zipper of his chinos. Unlike with Derek's clothes, he can't be bothered to disrobe the normal way. He utilises his spark for this, disappearing every garment to the laundry hamper in their bathroom.

"That's better," he says, enjoying the sensation of skin on skin.

Derek whines and bucks his hips up, his cock waving in the air. He's so hard now that the tip is nearly purple.

"Be patient…" Stiles whispers. He leans down to kiss him and hums approvingly when Derek opens right up for him, their tongues sliding together. His lungs soon protest the lack of oxygen, so he pulls back but only by a few inches, keeping their faces close. A thread of spit connects their lips and only breaks when he talks. "I'm gonna ride you now, Sourwolf…gonna make myself come on your cock."

Another whine.

"Yeah? You want that?"

Derek nods ardently, and his arms strain against the invisible bonds holding them down.

With a soft laugh, Stiles retrieves the lube from where it rolled near the edge of the bed, in danger of falling off, and pops open the cap. He drizzles some out on his fingers and brings his hand behind himself, prodding at his own hole. He maintains eye contact with Derek as he slides two in straight away, too worked up to ease himself in with just one first.

He worries at his bottom lip and isn't shy about making his own noises, letting Derek see and hear just how good it feels to stretch himself open; the burn of doing it quickly just heightens the pleasure, as does Derek being at his mercy beneath him. If things were reversed and Derek were pleasuring himself while Stiles was bound, unable to touch or join in, completely helpless…he'd go mad.

His poor Sourwolf.

A third finger swiftly follows the first two, and that's all Stiles can take. He takes them out, adds more lube and uses it to slick up Derek's cock before getting into position.

The first penetration is tough. Derek is well-endowed, and no matter how many times they do things this way, with Stiles bottoming, it's always a lot. Inch after thick inch fills him as he slides down Derek's cock, until he forces himself down the rest of the way in one go, sitting in Derek's lap. He tips his head back and places his hands on Derek's pecs to keep himself balanced, rocking back and forth to get used to the stretch, to the feeling of being filled to the brim.

"Goddamn, that's good," he says with a sigh, eyelids fluttering as he clamps his hole down around the 'wolf's shaft. The increased tightness has Derek bucking up again, trying to work himself impossibly deeper into Stiles' warm channel.

Stiles can't have that. No…it's unacceptable.

"I don't think so," he says huskily.

He adds to the part of his spark he locked off to keep Derek's wrists bound, spreading its influence to Derek's hips and ankles. The result is the Alpha barely being able to move, his middle held firm to the mattress so he can't use Stiles' body to chase his own release. He can't even plant his feet to the mattress to fight against it, meaning there's not a chance in hell he'll get to come before Stiles is good and ready for it.

Derek clenches his eyes shut and turns his head to the side with a sound that's close to a sob, hiding in the bulge of his bicep.

Stiles makes a soothing noise and rubs the back of his hand over Derek's cheekbone. "Shh…we'll both get what we want by the end," he reassures.

Cracking open the eye not hidden by his arm, Derek peers up at Stiles. His iris is Alpha-red, but Stiles can hardly see the bright colour because it's nearly entirely eclipsed by the pupil, blown wide with desperate lust. He makes for such a piteous sight that Stiles can't help but take mercy on him.

"I want you to keep looking at me, Sourwolf," he commands as he rearranges himself, getting into the best position to ride his needy lover.

Hard.

"Don't look away for even a second," he adds. "You do, and I stop."

He leans back instead of forward, rests his hands on Derek's shins and spreads his legs wide, placing his feet on either side of Derek's ribcage. It means that the Alpha will be able to see _everything_ , won't be able to miss how much Stiles is enjoying taking his own pleasure—and boy, is he going to enjoy this.

He stays still until Derek comes out of hiding, and after taking a moment to relish the rush of power he gets from every part of this, he begins.

He's determined to put on the show of a lifetime.

After rising up so that just the head of Derek's cock stays inside his hole, Stiles shoves himself back down, over and over again. It only takes him a few seconds to find the correct angle, to figure out that he should add in a little grinding motion each time his ass smacks against Derek's lap to get the head of Derek's cock to rub right over his prostate. He throws his head back and moans unabashedly loud the first time it happens, a frisson of white-hot pleasure travelling up his spine. The hairs on his arms stand on end.

His junk bounces up and down with each movement, his dick smacking against his belly, leaving a tacky spot in his happy trail. He doesn't touch himself.

Not yet.

Lowering his head again, Stiles is glad to see that Derek has so far obeyed him—and that he's lost control of himself, his beta shift changing his face so that he looks dangerous and wild. The werewolf bares his fangs, sharp and deadly, and gives a deep growl as his heavy brow wrinkles even further, devoid of eyebrows. Stiles has always loved breaking Derek's usually perfect control like this, forcing him to show this animalistic side of himself. He knows it can make Derek feel unhinged if he pushes far enough, and it usually leads to Stiles waking up the following morning with scratches all over his body and bruises on his hips because Derek held onto him just a little too tight.

It must be vexing for Derek to lose himself to his inner wolf in a situation like this, unable to do anything about it. He can't even speak, just make sounds.

It makes it even better for Stiles, though, his lower gut tingling tellingly.

"Gonna— Gonna mark you up," Stiles gasps out, relying on one arm to support himself so he can wrap a hand around his cock. He doesn't have to do much to get himself off, just continues to ride Derek for all he's worth, his thighs aching, and allows this to fuck his dick up into the sleeve of his hand.

When his orgasm crashes into him, his vision whites out and he nearly bites through his lower lip. His cock jerks uncontrollably in his grip and ropes of jizz spurt from the cut tip to splatter all over Derek's torso. He impales himself on Derek a few more times, the stimulation to his prostate causing his orgasm to last longer, and then, when the oversensitivity turns into pain, he shoves himself down a final time and sits there, content to stay filled while he recovers. He doesn't move again, even avoids clenching down around the thick length stretching him, purely to frustrate Derek more.

His breathing heavy, Stiles surveys the results of his orgasm. He grins to himself—he came _a lot_ , and the tanned skin of Derek's torso is painted white. Most of it ended up on his abs and sternum, but a couple spurts shot farther, reaching his chest.

Stiles folds his legs beneath himself, even as his thighs ache something fierce, and plays with the load. He swirls his index finger through it all, creating patterns that mean nothing and then rubbing it into the skin. "There," he says smugly when he's done and nearly all the hair on Derek's torso is matted down and sticky. "Now you'll smell like me for days, no matter how hard you scrub yourself in the shower. Better avoid the puppies. You're welcome. No need to thank me."

Derek's nostrils flare as he breathes in deep, taking in the scent he's now stuck with. From his expression, he doesn't seem too put out by it. As a werewolf with enhanced senses and a possessive streak a mile wide, Stiles knew he wouldn't be.

He decides he's done enough teasing and taunting for the night. Derek was so good for him, not saying a word and not looking away…

He deserves a reward.

All at once, Stiles withdraws the magic he was using to keep Derek bound and says three simple words: "Have at me."

As he was expecting, Stiles' vision blurs briefly and he finds himself suddenly on his back with Derek looming over him, his chest heaving with each breath, mouth stretched wide in a wicked grin.

Derek's cock stays fully sheathed inside his body, and Derek takes full advantage of that fact by fucking him for all he's worth right from the jump. It's uncoordinated, just pure animal need and no finesse. The overstimulation is still present for Stiles, especially when Derek hits his prostate by accident every now and then, but it's not enough for him to actually feel any pain. He can take the discomfort—it's worth it to watch Derek fall apart above him.

To help him along, Stiles stretches his arms around Derek and grabs his meaty ass. The muscular globes flex with each thrust. He works a finger between them, into Derek's hairy crack, and rubs over the tight little hole hidden there.

" _Mmf_!" Derek grunts. He halts for a half-second and then resumes, his top lip curled up in a snarl.

Right as he recognises the signs of Derek's impending release, Stiles does his electricity trick again—once, right over the furled muscle—and then sends a second shock inside to Derek's prostate. The Alpha all but howls, the rhythm of his thrusts stuttering. He tears into the sheets next to Stiles' shoulders with his claws as he careens over the edge of the cliff, filling Stiles up with his load.

All his aggressive energy leaving him in an instant, Derek's arms give out and he collapses, squishing Stiles with nearly all two hundred pounds of him.

"Damn, you're heavy," the younger man croaks.

"Sorry…" Derek mumbles, his face tucked into the side of Stiles' neck. He makes as if to roll off to the side, but Stiles prevents him, wrapping him in his arms to hold him in place instead. It's a comforting weight.

"I didn't say I minded, you dummy," he says with a roll of his eyes. He runs his hands up and down Derek's sweaty back.

"Really?"

Stiles hums his assent. Yes, it makes it a bit more difficult to suck enough air into his lungs, but he'll deal for the sense of closeness he feels lying like this, basking in the afterglow with the love of his life.

Derek lifts his head. His beta shift must have receded sometime after his orgasm because his face is human now. His hair is stuck to his forehead and his cheeks are still red, but he's never looked more beautiful.

Stiles can't resist kissing him. He smiles into it.

When it's over, Derek levers himself up on his arms and narrows his eyes at him. "I'm gonna pay you back for this, y'know."

Stiles cocks his head to the side. "Are you, now?"

"Yeah. You'll never see me coming, and by the time I'm done with you, you'll be begging me to stop."

A thrill goes through Stiles. His soft cock gives a valiant twitch, but he's way too worn out for anything to come of it. "I'll look forward to it."

"You say that now…"

With a wince from both of them, Derek pulls out of Stiles' hole and shuffles over to the side of the bed to stand up. He stretches his arms above his head and twists his torso from side to side, working out all the kinks and sore muscles he got from keeping one position for such a long time. He holds out his hand for Stiles.

"You wanna join me in the shower?" he asks. His countenance makes it clear he already knows the answer.

He's right, and after some leisurely ablutions, during which they both take great care to wash each other from head to toe, Stiles returns to the bed with Derek. The sheets are completely ruined thanks to Derek's claws, so Stiles balls them up and throws them in a corner to deal with in the morning.

A few minutes later, he puts the pillowcase on the last pillow and climbs in. He cuddles close to Derek, curling around his back as the big spoon. They fit together like puzzle pieces.

As he closes his eyes, his final thought before he succumbs to sleep is that his spark is fucking awesome.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this one kind of got away from me. I didn't intend for it have such heavy dom/sub undertones, but I guess I was _really_ in mood to write submissive Derek when I started it. This is the result, and I have to say, I'm not complaining. I really enjoyed writing it, and I think that showed. XD Let me know what you thought.
> 
> Stay tuned for my next PWP, in which orphan Stiles hitchhikes to get away from his foster home and gets picked up by a rough and burly Derek. Derek will be the dominant one this time.
> 
> **P.S. Don't forget to subscribe to me to be notified when my future updates go live. And please check out my past fics if you haven't already and are interested.**


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